


sleepless night, winless fight

by katierosefun, KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space - Karen Miller
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Nightmares, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Whump, Post-Zigoola (Star Wars), Protective Anakin Skywalker, Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space References, Trauma, Whump, Whumptober 2020, Worried Anakin Skywalker, Zigoola
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: A bad mission leaves Obi-Wan wondering what’s real and what’s not. When shadows take shape and the lines blur between wakefulness and dreams, walking around the Temple feels like a solution—until it isn’t.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 323





	sleepless night, winless fight

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Wild Space by Karen Miller, but you don’t need to have read that book to understand this fic (although if you love some good Obi-Wan whump, please—we are begging you—read that book)

Obi-Wan was becoming exceptionally skilled at acting like everything was fine.

The hologram image flickered in the darkness, blue light painting the room. Ahsoka’s voice crackled through the Jedi Temple comm center, and as she and Anakin snapped back and forth, Obi-Wan found the flow of conversation a bit hard to follow— _Artoo_ this and _listening post_ that. But he kept his shoulders back and eyes ahead, pushing aside the fog in his mind.

“...I mean really, Master, if you hadn’t lost him in the first place—”

“Well, we got him back,” Anakin replied. “So it doesn’t matter. Right, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan managed a wry smile. That was a familiar enough gesture—the kind that Obi-Wan had practiced one too many times, but one that, thankfully, still came easily enough. “Right,” he replied. Tried to reply. Even that simple response felt distant, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Ahsoka was rolling her eyes, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have thought he had responded at all. 

He cleared his throat once, re-focused on Anakin and Ahsoka’s flickering images. “It’s a good thing you two found him,” he said. “Just so long as it doesn’t happen again, yes?” 

“Trust me,” Anakin said, “once is enough for me.” 

“And me,” Ahsoka muttered. “Still can’t believe that stupid _Goldy_ was—” 

“What did I tell you?” 

“ _Don’t_ tell me that you told—” 

“I told you so,” Anakin finished triumphantly. He looked at Obi-Wan, and again, Obi-Wan managed the slightest of smiles, even though this one took some more effort. 

“Don’t look too proud,” he said, leaning ever so slightly against the holoprojector. “I mean it, Anakin—this can’t happen again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. How about this—you spare me the lecture on why I should wipe Artoo’s memory regularly, and I spare you the argument on why I shouldn’t.”

Obi-Wan huffed—would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t know it would worsen his headache. “Fine. As long as you know—”

“I know,” Anakin said. “Anyway, we’re on our way home. Dinner at Dex’s when we’re back?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply. But suddenly Anakin’s image seemed to crackle and swim before his eyes, the blue light flickering. Yet when he blinked, the distortion was gone.

“Fine,” he said, swallowing. His throat felt dry. “I wish you safe passage.”

He was about to terminate the call when Ahsoka said, “Hey, wait.”

Obi-Wan paused with his hand on the button. He met Ahsoka’s eyes, but suddenly his vision felt cloudy. Like it wasn’t just she who was a holoprojection, but everything—the floor, the walls, his own hands shaking against the machine. It didn’t feel real. None of it.

“Master Kenobi...are you okay?”

He blinked. 

“Of course,” he said, and his voice felt raw in his throat. 

He was vaguely aware of Anakin and Ahsoka exchanging a glance, of his own voice saying ‘goodbye’ and his hands moving to end the call. The moment their images flickered out, the moment the room was coated in darkness, Obi-Wan sucked in a shaky breath, bracing himself on the holoprojector. 

The edge of the holoprojector dug into Obi-Wan’s palm, and that dull pain was almost enough to bring him back, but when Obi-Wan started to push himself away, his hand slipped. He let himself sink—he could have let himself sink, because all of the strength seemed to seep right out from his limbs, but then— 

Obi-Wan inhaled sharply, caught himself against the holoprojector with his other hand. He ignored the dig into that palm too as he steadied himself. Looked down at the deactivated holoprojector, and he thought he saw another flicker, but—

He stepped away from the holoprojector 

—

Sleep. 

He just needed some sleep. 

That was what Obi-Wan told himself hours later. 

And sleep began with closing his eyes, but Obi-Wan found himself still staring at the slits of light across his room. He hadn’t bothered closing the blinds all the way, found that he couldn’t be bothered to, even though it was still bright out. 

Obi-Wan watched the lights flicker as a speeder passed by. 

He just needed to close his eyes—that was all he had to do, and then he could sleep, and then that strange fogginess in his head could go away. 

He’d grown accustomed, by now, to staring at the insides of his eyelids. But every now and then, the darkness seemed to take shape—to become something sinister, something familiar—something he couldn’t even close his eyes to escape. He squeezed them shut tighter, as if that would help. Even knowing it wouldn’t.

And then it started.

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi—_

He wanted to fight it. He wanted to shut it up, shut it _out_ , but he was just so _tired_ , and the voice—

What came next wasn’t exactly dreams—wasn’t even exactly nightmares. Maybe he was awake, he wasn’t sure. But suddenly he was _there_ —laying on his back on the cracked ground of Zigoola’s withered jungle, staring up at a black and empty sky, Bail Organa’s voice nearby but somehow far away. He was _there—_ watching Qui-Gon die all over again, watching Tayvor burn at the stake, watching Jedi fall to his feet on Geonosis. He was _there_ —the end of his sanity, the end of his light, with nothing left but darkness, _darkness_ —

He jolted upright.

Sitting in bed, hating himself for trembling, Obi-Wan folded forward and buried his head in his hands.

His chest was too tight, he realized. Chest tight and arms taut and head pounding and _ah, not good_ — 

Obi-Wan pushed himself out of bed, walked to the opposite wall for—he didn’t know what for, just to regain his _breath_ —

Obi-Wan’s hand found the cool wall, and he leaned forward as he let out one breath, another. He curled his hand inwards, felt and heard the rough scrape of the wall against his nails as he tried to remember exactly how—

Obi-Wan swallowed. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slits of light flicker again, and this time, Obi-Wan spun around—

Just another speeder. 

Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, his head still pounding and his chest still too tight. He dropped his head back, looked down at his bed. The sheets were kicked back in disarray, the blanket half-tossed to the floor. He didn’t even remember doing that. 

Obi-Wan walked over to the bed and picked up the blanket. Tugged the sheets back over the mattress. 

When his bed was made, he sat back down on the floor and tried to remember how to breathe again.

But meditation wouldn’t do—he wanted to feel the light side of the Force, but the darkness was there, too. He let the air fill his lungs and flood out again, quaking as it went, but kept his eyes wide open. Kept them fixed on the wall, the closet, the bed, jumping to meet every shadow.

_Die Jedi, die Jedi—_

Obi-Wan flinched. 

He was awake—he was fairly certain he was awake, anyhow—but the voice was still there. Always there. Like even his mind wasn’t a safe place anymore, like his thoughts weren’t something he could trust or even control.

And for a moment, he thought about getting up, going to get his comlink or to Anakin’s quarters, in search of another voice. One he knew was real, that could pull him out of whatever this was.

 _But no. Anakin can’t know._ No one could.

Obi-Wan pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in them, trying to drown out Zigoola before it could drown him.

—

So instead of letting himself drown, Obi-Wan walked, as though steps alone could take him away from the thoughts still crowding his head. 

There were early morning walks, the kind where the only sounds were the distant chirps of birds and the quietest rustles of other masters starting their own mornings. On those mornings, Obi-Wan would dip his head to the passing master and smile, and he would walk in no direction in particular until the rest of the Temple was bright and warm enough for him to get feeling back into his limbs. 

Only once, Obi-Wan was walking alone in a corridor, and he thought he saw a shadow dancing in the archway of one of the courtyards. He had stopped, and only a moment later, he found a youngling hiding from her creche master. The youngling had lifted a finger to her lips, and Obi-Wan had pretended not to know where the youngling was when the creche master showed up to the courtyard. Obi-Wan had feigned surprise when the creche master finally found the child, but Obi-Wan noticed that slight shadow flicker again even after the youngling left. 

Obi-Wan ignored that shadow, and when he met with Anakin and Ahsoka later that day, he had almost had it out of his mind until Anakin suddenly turned to him, and Obi-Wan thought his former apprentice’s eyes seemed to gleam golden under the lights. 

Anakin had said something, and Obi-Wan couldn’t find his voice, so he settled for nodding at whatever Anakin had to say instead. 

He took more walks.

—

Anakin still felt weird about sneaking out of the Jedi Temple at night.

He shouldn’t have, really—there was no one policing his whereabouts, no rule that said he couldn’t leave. But each time he slipped back through the doors, his own footsteps echoing through the corridors and Padmé’s perfume on his clothes, he couldn’t help but jump at every shadow. The hallway was empty, but he still felt as though he were being watched.

So when he turned the corner and came face-to-face with Obi-Wan, Anakin almost yelped like a youngling.

Well, not exactly face-to-face—Obi-Wan was still a ways off, walking slowly with one hand trailing against the marble wall. He didn’t seem to see Anakin, or even sense him, and for a moment, Anakin’s shoulders dropped in relief. One less lie he’d have to tell.

But before he could turn and slip away unnoticed, he paused. 

Something...something wasn’t right.

When Obi-Wan finally looked up, Anakin watched a strange look flicker across his face—something that looked suspiciously like fear.

“Anakin,” he said quickly. “What are you—”

“Nothing.” Anakin crossed his arms over his chest, as if that would stop Padmé’s scent from filling the space between them.“Why are you still awake? You’re up early these days, I thought you’d be—”

“Just a nighttime stroll,” he said, his tone carefully casual. “Briefings and meetings all day—I needed to stretch my legs.”

“At two in the morning?”

A brief silence. 

And then Obi-Wan replied, “It’s been a long day.” 

“And you thought you’d make it longer by…” 

“Never mind that,” Obi-Wan said. “Why are _you_ still awake?” 

_Oops_. 

“I was busy,” Anakin replied defensively. “With repairs.” _Yes, repairs, which was why he smelled like a certain senator’s shampoo and perfume and_ —

He cleared his throat. “Anyways, I was just heading back.” 

“As was I,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“Right.” _Right_. Anakin didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried that Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed— _did_ he notice that Anakin was hiding— _no, maybe he didn’t_ — 

“Well, looks like you need the sleep,” Anakin said, trying for a short laugh. That sounded casual enough. 

Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin briefly. “Perhaps,” he said. He gave Anakin a slight smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. But before Anakin could think any more on that, Obi-Wan was already bowing his head, and walking past him, Obi-Wan added over his shoulder, “Good _night_ , Anakin.” 

“‘Night,” Anakin called after Obi-Wan. 

He watched Obi-Wan walk down the corridor. Head still held high, hands just barely swinging by his sides. 

And yet…

Anakin watched Obi-Wan disappear around the corner before turning back around himself. 

He slipped back to his quarters before he could run into anyone else.

—

“Skyguy, you really should stick to making droids. Because pancakes aren’t really your thing.”

Ahsoka had her feet up on the table in Anakin’s kitchen, leaning back in her chair. She grimaced as she chewed, shooting Anakin a look from where he stood by the stove.

“My pancakes are fine,” Anakin said. “They’re better than Obi-Wan’s, at least. He always burns them.”

“Well, at least he remembers to use flour.”

Obi-Wan let their banter wash over him, twirling his fork on his plate. This was how conversations seemed to go, these days—the words around him without quite reaching him. Like a pong match, and he was on the sidelines. 

Ahsoka stood and pushed her plate away when her comlink buzzed, excusing herself to answer it. Obi-Wan just barely heard her say, ‘Hey, Barriss” from the next room before Anakin was plopping down in the chair beside him, shoving a plate of food his way.

“Okay, you need to eat,” he said, gesturing to the stack of breakfast food. “I don’t think I’ve seen you touch food since Ahsoka and I got home.”

“I’m not hungry. I was up early, I had breakfast a while ago.”

“What do you mean ‘up early?’” Anakin said. “You were up late last night. Tell me you slept.”

“I slept.”

“Convincing,” Anakin deadpanned. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

And maybe it was Anakin’s tone. Maybe it was the pain that still lingered behind his eyes in the days since Zigoola. Maybe it was the whispers of the _voice_ still echoing in his ears, or maybe he was just tired. But Obi-Wan felt like he could snap.

“You’re up in the night, in the morning…” Anakin held out his hand, ticking things off as he went. “I’m _pretty_ sure I overheard one of the creche masters saying you scared the _daylights_ out of them— _and_ you haven’t been—” 

“Are you enjoying this?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Anakin set down his hand. “No,” he said. “Why would you—I’m _not_.” He set his hand down on the table. “But _something’s_ going on, and you’re being—” 

“I’m being?” 

“Frustrating,” Anakin said, shoving the plate of food Obi-Wan’s way. “That’s what you’re being. Frustrating.” 

“Bold words,” Obi-Wan said, pushing the plate back. He didn’t mean to push so hard, but the plate made a small, sharp sound against the table. 

“ _True_ words,” Anakin fired back. “What’s going on?” 

_He can’t know_. 

Obi-Wan set his hand on his lap. 

“ _Obi-Wan_. What’s—”

“There’s _nothing_ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. He looked at Anakin. “Do you—” He took a breath. Another. He felt a dull pain in his palm, and when he looked down, he found his nails digging little crescents into his skin. Stunned, Obi-Wan unwound his fingers and slipped his hand away before Anakin could look. “Do you understand?” 

“What I _understand_ is that you’re being—” 

“Careful,” Obi-Wan said. 

“ _Careful_ —right, have you seen yourself lately?” 

“I am _fine_ , Anakin—” 

“You haven’t been _fine_ since whatever mission you came back from with Bail—you haven’t been _fine_ since—” 

“ _Enough_ ,” Obi-Wan snapped. 

Anakin stopped.

Obi-Wan realized then that his heart was racing, the blood funneling through him and echoing in his ears. He inhaled slowly, careful not to let the breath shake, because Anakin was looking—and Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to look back.

So instead he looked down at the table, at the hands balled into fists in his lap. Just breathing, while Anakin’s stunned silence felt like the loudest thing in the world.

“Anakin,” he said at last, so softly his voice was nearly a whisper. “I—”

But then a door opened, and Ahsoka was striding back through again, and Obi-Wan’s voice dropped off.

“Barriss is going to spar with us today, Master, if that’s al—” Ahsoka stopped beside the kitchen table, eyes twitching back and forth between Obi-Wan and Anakin. “What’s going on?”

“It’s like there’s an echo in here,” Obi-Wan said, and though he tried for sarcasm, it came out flat. 

Ahsoka’s eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t reply. And then Obi-Wan was standing a little too quickly, with enough force that the chair nearly tipped over behind him, and swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“I’d best be going,” he said quietly. “Have a nice breakfast.”

He was gone before they could protest. But even as he left the room, Ahsoka’s voice followed him, saying:

“Is he—”

“I don’t know,” came Anakin’s soft reply. “I don’t know.”

Obi-Wan wished he had an actual answer to give, too. 

—

Obi-Wan found himself back in his room. He heard the hiss of the door close behind him, dropped his chin down to his chest that was tight for reasons other than the usual problems. He pushed himself away from the door and took one step, another to the bed. He sat down at the edge, slipped off his outer robe because suddenly that felt too warm, even though his hands were cold. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Rubbed a hand over his face. He saw Anakin’s stunned expression again, the wary look that Ahsoka had given them both. 

Obi-Wan set a hand on his lap. If he could just…

He slipped off the bed, settled down to the floor. He needed to clear his mind. That was what he needed to do. Again. Clear his mind, hope that that would at least be enough, at least for the time being, because so far, everything else was— 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He set his hands on his knees, breathed in. 

And for a few blissful moments, there was nothing: no voices, no whispers. 

He could just—

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. 

A shadow loomed before him. 

It wasn’t his. 

And yet it grew and grew and grew— 

_Die Jedi die Jedi die_ — 

Obi-Wan jerked backwards—

And promptly fell off the bed. 

_Bed. He had been in bed_ —

Obi-Wan sat up quickly, hitting his head against the bedframe. He hadn’t—he thought he had been on the floor but— 

Obi-Wan looked at the wall in front of him. 

No shadows. 

No shadows, but—he _was so sure he had been_ — 

Obi-Wan looked down at his palms. 

He saw where his nails had dug into the skin. Didn’t even remember doing it. And then he wondered if the indentations were real at all—or maybe if his _hands_ were real at all—

 _Alright_. He inhaled. Held his breath. _Alright. It will just take some time. Until...until I trust myself again_ …

Because how could he now? When every shadow and sound startled him, when every thought was a hoax, when he could barely even tell the difference between wakefulness and sleep?

He was digging his nails into his palm, again. This time, he was sure.

Fairly sure.

Obi-Wan pushed to his feet. He staggered a little, bracing himself on the bed until he was certain he could keep himself upright. Certain he was standing at all. Maybe, he decided...maybe he just needed to go somewhere—to not be alone, to not be at the mercy of his own mind. But then there’d be more questions—more prying eyes and people asking what was wrong, and he shouldn’t—he _couldn’t_ —

He sat down on the bed.

And this time, when the shadow appeared, it had a face.

_Die Jedi, die Jedi—_

The image flickered before him—first it was Ventress, then Maul. Then Dooku, standing far above them at Geonosis, before flickering back to Maul. 

_Die Jedi, die Jedi, die Jedi—_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. Opened them again.

It was still there.

 _Not real—_ they couldn’t be real, because he had left them on Zigoola. No, that wasn’t right—because they weren’t _really_ at Zigoola then either, they had been elsewhere, and on Zigoola, they had all just been _fake_ —imaginations that drove him to— 

But the shadow was still there, still changing its face, and this time, each face seemed to grow sharper and sharper in focus. The darkness seemed to leech all the remaining light out of Obi-Wan’s room; all the color seemed to fade as that darkness grew, slipped in between invisible cracks in the floor, and— 

The faces kept changing. 

_Not real—they were not real—_

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. _Not real—focus—_

“ _Leave_ ,” he hissed. 

When he reopened his eyes, there were no more shadows. 

Only a faint whisper— 

Obi-Wan slumped forward. 

_Again_. 

—

He was walking again when it happened.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was empty and peaceful at night, with the serenade of flowing water and plant life nearly everywhere. Obi-Wan kept a steady pace, and for a moment, he actually felt a sliver of calm—for the first time in weeks, the ground felt solid beneath him. The hands in his pockets felt like they belonged to him.

And so as he strolled, he dropped his guard a little—allowed himself to think of something other than survival, than getting through this night and making it to the next. He passed Qui-Gon’s old favorite spot by the waterfall. It was one of the first places he remembered feeling so utterly in tune with the Force, with he and Qui-Gon meditating side-by-side, together but separate entities in the light. Each time they’d finish, Qui-Gon would stand, offer a hand to pull him up, and they’d walk through the endless trees and grasses and waterfalls, sometimes silent, sometimes joking and laughing.

Now, as Obi-Wan walked by, the space was bare.

Until it wasn’t.

Obi-Wan stopped cold. He felt eyes on him, felt something drawing him back to the spot. Something—

“ _Padawan.”_

Obi-Wan turned.

Ridiculously, the first thing he noticed was the hair—Qui-Gon’s was still a bit brown, not fully drenched in gray as he remembered it at the end. His old master stood at the base of the waterfall, staring at him. Younger. Smiling.

Here.

“Qui-Gon?”

Obi-Wan started to step forward, but stopped himself. Tried to open his eyes wider, as though doing so would make his vision clearer. But then Qui-Gon was reaching out, extending a hand just like he used to—

Obi-Wan almost reached back.

Instead, he stood and watched as a red lightsaber burst forth from Qui-Gon’s chest.

It ripped through the flesh and cauterized it, and Qui-Gon’s mouth dropped open in shock. Obi-Wan felt his own mouth widen in a silent scream, the echo of his own voice from ten years before seeming to ripple through time. Qui-Gon’s knees buckled. He crumpled to the ground.

And all around them, the fountains and falls ran red.

—

Anakin hadn’t meant to walk past Obi-Wan’s quarters. 

If anything, he had been avoiding it for most of the day. 

Obi-Wan—well, Obi-Wan had other things to do and other things to think on, clearly, and Anakin wasn’t a part of it. 

Which was why he had made a point of walking _around_ Obi-Wan’s quarters, even though that meant taking an extra hallway and climbing up and down extra flights of stairs. 

He hadn’t mentioned Obi-Wan to Padmé when he saw her—even though she had known that _something_ was wrong, he didn’t say anything. Instead just stretched on the couch and asked if she could take a break from the bill-drafting and just have dinner with him. (Which they did. And Anakin felt mostly whole after that. Mostly.) 

Anakin hovered at the end of the hallway now—the hallway, he knew, that would hold Obi-Wan’s quarters. 

It was late. Maybe Obi-Wan would actually be… _maybe_. It was later than it had been the last few nights, at least. Even for Anakin himself, he wasn’t quite sure he had ever stayed out this late…

Assured by that fact alone, Anakin walked down the hallway. 

He could feel the peace radiating from the other rooms—peace, just the faintest trickling of anxiety about a lesson or a battle or other things that kept people up at night. Anakin made sure his steps were quiet—he didn’t _really_ have to make sure of that, though, because he had since perfected it since the beginning of the war—but still, he made sure his steps were extra quiet as he passed Obi-Wan’s door— 

And despite himself, Anakin still felt himself reach forward, just to make sure that—

_Huh._

Anakin stopped and looked at Obi-Wan’s door. 

He wasn’t there. 

Anakin frowned and turned back around. If Obi-Wan wasn’t in his quarters…

 _Just out for a walk again_ , Anakin thought. 

_As always_ , he couldn’t help but add bitterly. 

He took another step forward and looked at the door again. 

But it was _late_ — 

Anakin stayed at the door and, folding his arms over his chest, he waited one second, two. 

And then, dropping his arms to his sides, he muttered, “Looks like I have to rescue you again, old man.” 

He started back down the hall, mentally cataloguing Obi-Wan’s usual spots and deciding which to check first. But as he walked, he felt an unnamed dread pooling in his stomach.

The feeling he usually got before battle.

Anakin quickened his pace.

By the time he’d checked the Archives and the training dojo, and even the Halls of Healing, he was running. 

He almost passed by the door. The Room of a Thousand Fountains was dark, and quiet, and Anakin started to skid past.

But then he heard it—a splash. A strangled sob.

He stopped running.

Anakin entered the room, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He started forward slowly now, though his heart still hammered in his chest, scanning the trees and waterfalls until—

_Obi-Wan. Oh, Obi-Wan—_

Anakin ran.

If he hadn’t already been looking, Anakin might not have seen him. Obi-Wan was on his knees, folded over at the waist, so small that he nearly blended with the bushes. He held his head in his hands, and for some reason, the sight was almost enough to stop Anakin short—because this was _Obi-Wan_. And Obi-Wan wasn’t supposed to look so...so…

When Anakin got to his side, he dropped to his knees. 

“Hey, what’s—”

“ _Don’t.”_

Obi-Wan yanked his arm away the moment Anakin reached for it. His breaths came in short, shaky bursts as he tried to get away, failing even to push himself to his feet.

“Hey, stop, it’s me. It’s _me—”_

Anakin wrapped his hands around Obi-Wan’s wrists, grabbed hold of him before he could pull away again. “ _Obi-Wan_ —” Anakin tried to keep his voice steady. “Obi-Wan? Just—” He shifted his hands against Obi-Wan’s wrists. _Come on_ — 

Anakin heard a strangled gasp of a breath, and then he felt Obi-Wan tense under his grip, knew exactly which way Obi-Wan would try to move, but he still held fast. The sound Obi-Wan made—a sharp half-cry—was enough to almost let Anakin lose his grip, but— 

“What’s wrong?” Anakin asked. “Obi-Wan—what’s—” 

“ _Get it out_ ,” Obi-Wan gasped. He lifted his head up to Anakin, and Anakin saw just how pale his former master’s face was, the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I— _get it out_ —” 

“Get what out?” Anakin asked helplessly, trying, _trying_ to hold Obi-Wan up. “Master, _don’t_ —” He dragged Obi-Wan back up by the wrists. “Is—did you—” He looked around, as though there might be some healer nearby—if Obi-Wan was _poisoned_ , maybe that was it—that could be it, because Obi-Wan was breathing faster, his hands too cold in Anakin’s own—

“Tried stopping them,” Obi-Wan said now. He ducked his head, started to tug away, but again, Anakin held fast. “They—” He stopped, swallowed. “You shouldn’t _be here_ —” 

Anakin stopped. “What are you—” 

“ _You_ ,” Obi-Wan whispered. His forehead was just barely brushing against Anakin’s shoulder. “Not _here_ —”

“We’re not—” Anakin’s heart sank as he took in Obi-Wan’s trembling, the short breaths, and then he wondered _the mission_ — 

_What happened on Zigoola? What happened to—_

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said quietly. “You’re _here_. You’re home.” He slipped his hand further down Obi-Wan’s wrist, down to his forearm instead. “Home— _your_ home—so come back.” 

He looked down at Obi-Wan—and Obi-Wan was still looking down, breathing too hard and too fast, and Anakin wondered just how long his former master had been holding his breath. 

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked quietly. “Come back.” 

Obi-Wan looked up then, searching Anakin’s face with watery eyes. Yet somehow, Anakin felt as though he were looking at a stranger. He barely recognized the voice that whispered back:

“Are you real?”

Anakin took both of Obi-Wan’s hands in his and squeezed. 

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’m real.”

Obi-Wan inhaled, nodding. And when he let out the breath, he pitched forward. His head hit Anakin’s chest, and Anakin felt a sob into his tunic.

“I’m real,” Anakin said again. “And I’m not letting anything happen to you. Okay?” When Anakin took a breath, he was surprised to find his own lungs shaking. “You’re okay.”

Anakin let his head fall to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and he kept it there.

“You’re okay.”

They stayed that way—Obi-Wan holding onto Anakin, his face buried in Anakin’s shoulder until the sobs turned to shudders and the shudders turned to quiet air. The sound of fountains gradually faded back into Anakin’s consciousness. The stillness seemed so odd, now—it seemed wrong for anything to look peaceful, for the water to twinkle so innocently when nothing was fine at all.

He tightened his grip on Obi-Wan, rooting them both to the ground.

When Obi-Wan finally sat up again, he looked down. His face was pale and his eyes red, the sunkenness beneath them looking more pronounced in the dim light than Anakin had ever seen it. 

“Are you…” Anakin’s voice came out hoarser than he expected. He shifted, adjusted his hold on Obi-Wan’s hands. “How’re you feeling? Do you need me to do—” 

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. His voice was quiet, too, lower than Anakin had heard it in a long, long while. Low and pitched with a rawness and exhaustion that felt unfamiliar—but at least that was Obi-Wan speaking to him now, the Obi-Wan with tired eyes and a tendency for silence, but it was _Obi-Wan_. “I don’t need you to...do anything.” 

“Okay,” Anakin replied. He turned himself just the slightest so that they would be sitting side by side. He didn’t let go of Obi-Wan though, and Obi-Wan didn’t let go of him. Which might have been strange—but it somehow wasn’t. 

They sat in silence, save for the trickle of water and the distant hum of some early-morning bug. Anakin glanced over at Obi-Wan again. His former master had closed his eyes, just for a brief enough moment before snapping them back open. 

“Is it Zigoola?” Anakin asked at last. 

For a moment, Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan wouldn’t answer at all—some of the strength that had been regained in the last few minutes seemed to seep out again, but then he nodded. A small nod, but a nod nonetheless.

Anakin considered asking again: _what happened?_ , and he was wondering if he should ask now—if this would be the only time he would ask now, when Obi-Wan said, “It’s not a good place, Anakin.” 

Anakin eyed Obi-Wan’s profile. The sharper lines, cut by not enough sleep and not enough of...anything. 

Again, Anakin wanted to ask _what happened?_

“And it’s not a place I would wish anyone to be, either.” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet. 

_But you were there_ , Anakin thought. And something had _happened_ —something bad enough to leave his former master seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. 

Anakin waited for Obi-Wan to continue. 

He didn’t. 

So Anakin turned back around. “Well,” he said quietly, tilting his head back to the sky, “you’re not there anymore. You’re here.” 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Obi-Wan shut his eyes for a moment. Give the smallest nod.

No more words came. Nothing but breaths and hands and beating hearts, and the weight of the world between them. Anakin sat and listened to the silence. To the proof that they were here.

He bumped his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s and left it there—an anchor, a reminder that they were home, and that this was real.

And even when the sky began to lighten with the dawn, when tomorrow became today and a moment became eternity, he didn’t move away.

**Author's Note:**

> We’re back! Writing with Caroline is, as always, so so so magical, and we had a blast with this one. I can’t imagine anything cooler than writing that ending scene, where Anakin and Obi-Wan just sit there together in the darkness until the sky starts to lighten with the dawn--and finishing writing it at 3:30 A.M. when our own sunrise was just hours away. It was so poetic and perfect. I laughed, I squeaked, I almost teared up writing this, and it’s a joy every single time. :’)  
> \--  
> Hello hello again, everyone! Thank you for stopping by and reading this fic, and I hope that y’all enjoyed it as much as Kasey and I enjoyed writing this! I really hope that you guys aren’t sick of me saying this, but here we are, I’m yet again saying that this was just so fun and so magical to write with Kasey! We wrote this piece together in one night--from like 9:30 pm to 3:30 am, and that was just an absolutely wonderful experience filled with lots of laughs and chest clutching, and I am once again saying that collabing with Kasey for this fic was just an absolute joy. An absolute ride, and I hope that you guys liked hopping on with us. :’)


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